


Put Yourself in My Shoes

by SosaLola



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Bodyswap, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2018-04-18 16:48:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4713197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SosaLola/pseuds/SosaLola
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buffy suddenly finds herself in Xander's body. Season Seven. Post-Get It Done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  
****

Made by [](http://moscow-watcher.livejournal.com/profile)[ **moscow_watcher**](http://moscow-watcher.livejournal.com/)  


****  
  
  
  
  
  


** Put Yourself in My Shoes **

  
  
  
  
  
  


_Part One_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
It happens in an instant -- very quickly and suddenly and completely painlessly. Like a blur, she feels like she's moved across the room; the faces she was just looking at are replaced with different ones. Some sort of transition happened. It's as though she had just awakened from a very short nap.   
  
She shifts her gaze and notices her reflection staring back at her with uncertainty. She tries to remain natural, unaffected, not scared by the First wearing her face. No one in the room notices, or perhaps they do, because they're all looking at the First, asking questions, looking for reassurance. She steps forward, about to call them on their mistake.   
  
But she says nothing because she feels different. Her movements are heavy; she feels heavy. She looks down at her hand -- big, rough, a man's hand.   
  
She looks up again, and green eyes greet her with fear and confusion.  
  
  
  
  


~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
  
Everybody calls him Buffy. Everybody asks questions - waiting for answers.   
  
He's rescued by  _his_  hand, which is strangely attached to his body, but is somehow not him. What in the name of Spock is going on here? It's grabbing him and leading him to the foyer, and that's when he notices that he's suddenly shrunk. He looks up at the man wearing his face for seconds before he sees the blonde lock of hair on his shoulder. He looks down at his body -- thin and feminine. His hands snap to his chest, feeling the womanly breasts.  
  
His hands are smacked down, and he looks up to meet a pair of disapproving hazel eyes. His eyes. Formerly his, apparently.   
  
He becomes aware that his blonde hair is tightly tied back; only one person wears her hair like this nowadays. His eyes go wide as he realizes what's just happened, and Buffy looks back at him with understanding.   
  
He opens his mouth, but she shakes her head, mouth snapping shut. He gets it. Talking about it is bad. That gets the First's attention. The thought of the Slayer trapped in a powerless shell will only bring badness.   
  
He glances at the others in the living room.  
  
Buffy shakes her head again.  
  
  
  
  


~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
  
She feels quite uncomfortable in her new skin. She's not used to being this large and definitely not used to being a bit taller than everybody else in the room. It troubles her that it's getting under her skin, which isn't hers, and it's making her frustrated. She's experienced this before, and it's still unpleasant. While she knows she can trust Xander with her body more than she did Faith, it's the worst time to have a body switch -- in the middle of the biggest apocalypse they've ever faced. She can't really focus when she's this large and tall and heavy and… weak.   
  
Her gaze slips to her masculine hand that balls into the weakest fist she's made in years. She hasn't felt this fragile since the council's test on her eighteenth birthday.   
  
Her own slender figure helped her move around with such ease, and the strength in her former hands was not to be messed with. Now, in a larger, more muscular body, she's not as free, but so heavy, so slow, and so weak.   
  
  
  
  


~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
  
Nobody expects much from him. When he does something, it either goes unnoticed or too much is made out of it. Did you hear? Xander saved the world -- so impressive, so unusual, so  _unexpected_.   
  
But Buffy…  
  
He looks warily at the hungry eyes before him, all staring at him, demanding, wanting. They expect more from Buffy. And they're never satisfied.   
  
They're waiting for an answer, but he doesn't have it. He stutters, words lost.  
  
Buffy tries to get their attention, but they don't want to hear Xander. What Xander says doesn't matter.  
  
Only Buffy's words matter.   
  
He spots Anya looking at Buffy, despite the hard façade and attitude; she'd still listen.  
  
Something tugs in his heart and he hates himself.  
  
  
  
  
  


~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
  
  
Xander is about to snap. She can feel it. She has to do something to save him.   
  
"Guys, how about warming up in the basement?" she suggests. "And then a little sparring in the backyard?"  
  
They stare at her silently before returning their eyes to Xander. He's busy with looking grateful and doesn't catch them waiting for his approval.  
  
"What do you think, Buffy?" she asks pointedly.  
  
He catches on, and then nods awkwardly.   
  
Everybody heads to the basement, and she tries not to sigh in relief.  
  
"You're tense," Willow says.  
  
She turns around and sees Willow's hand on Xander's shoulder. He jumps slightly at her touch. "Try not to overwork yourself, Buffy," she says.   
  
Xander nods. Why doesn't he talk? The fact that he's too nervous may get them caught.  
  
She tries to chide Xander with her eyes. He understands.   
  
He looks at Willow. "Basement," he chokes out, and then hurries after the others.  
  
She shakes her head.   
  
"I'm worried about her," Willow says with concern. "This is the biggest challenge she'll ever face."  
  
"She's gonna do fine," she says confidently.   
  
"I'm not so sure about that," Willow mutters softly before following Xander.  
  
The sting is so sharp. She swallows thickly and walks to the basement.  
  
  
  
  


~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
  
He stares and nods, stares and nods, while walking around the potentials. He's not sure what to say; he's actually impressed by the amount of strength and confidence some of these girls have, but none of them holds a candle to Buffy. He glances at her; she doesn't look as impressed, so he doesn't compliment. He copies the cold look, and hastily crosses his arms over his chest.   
  
"Buffy, look!" Molly shouts as she sends the punching bag flying, though not breaking its chain. He admits it's an impressive punch. She grins at him expectantly. He nods impassively and walks away.   
  
He doesn't want to see her disappointed expression, can't bear it. It's so familiar. He should act like Buffy. He  _has_  to act like Buffy. He stands in the corner, far away from them all.   
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
He startles, and then meets Spike's concerned face.   
  
He keeps quiet, his eyes distant, afraid that Spike will figure it out.  
  
It's always been a Buffy thing -- keeping feelings in check, never talking about anything.  
  
Spike will buy it.  
  
And he does.  
  
Spike frowns suspiciously.   
  
Mostly.  
  
He jumps again when he hears a loud crash from upstairs. Dawn runs down the stairs and looks at him directly. His heart sinks slightly at the fear in her bruised face. "Vampires. More than I've ever seen, Buffy. They're surrounding the house."  
  
"Don't worry. They can't come in uninvited," Buffy says, her posture defiant.  
  
"But," Dawn looks more troubled, "Sandra is one of them, and I let her in by mistake."  
  
He notices Buffy's stung expression before she regains her resolve. "Where is she?"   
  
"Here," Sandra says from the top of the stairs. Her smirk is more intimidating in her vampire features.   
  
The crashing doesn't stop, and Sandra is making her way down the stairs eerily slowly. He notices the broken faces of the potentials around him, the sad expression on Willow and Dawn's faces, and then his eyes fall on Buffy's determined gaze. "Say something," she mouths.  
  
Before he gets to say anything, Kennedy strikes toward Sandra, ready to run her stake through her heart. Sandra moves fast around her and heads straight to  _him_.   
  
"Buffy!" Spike shouts and throws him a stake.   
  
He catches it awkwardly and quickly dodges an attack; turning around, he holds the stake up, waiting for the next pounce. Sandra doesn't waste a second; she leaps forwards and grabs him by the shoulders, bearing her white fangs. Panicked, he kicks her in the stomach, and she flies to the back of the room.   
  
He stares at his leg with shock as it sinks in; he's the  _Slayer_. He's  _strong_. Feeling a rush of thrill, he looks up at the spot where Sandra landed only to find his own body standing there. His old face regards him with a hard stare, arms crossed, a stake hanging from one hand.   
  
He blinks, lips trembling, and his hand tightens its hold on the stake. Biting his lower lip, he hears more smashing and crashing sounding from upstairs.   
  
"What are we going to do about the vampires?" Dawn asks.  
  
He looks around at the faces staring at him with mixtures of disappointment and shock mingling with fear and disbelief.   
  
A frown crosses his features and he returns his gaze to the determined hazel eyes that used to belong to him. A crinkle appears between the brown eyebrows, and he gives that doubtful face his back. He feels his persona at work taking charge. Instead of instructing a bunch of grown men, he's gotta command teenage girls into doing the job. Nothing new. Nothing different. Only one thing: he's the Slayer now. There's no desk time, only action –feeling his strong foot on the ground- and he's got it.   
  
He regards them all with resolve. "We fight them." He looks at each frightened face and expands, "All of us. Out of the house."  
  
"Uh, Buffy." He hears the unsure tone of his old voice, and grimaces.   
  
"Now," he orders harsher than he should, can't bear the familiar sound of uncertainty anymore.   
  
"All right!" Kennedy exclaims, the first to stride up the stairs.   
  
  
  
  
  


~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
  
  
"Buffy," she calls again, this time louder and harder.  
  
Xander ignores her, making his way up the stairs followed by the skeptical potentials. Has he gone insane?   
  
She glances at Spike and Willow, who look as doubtful as she feels. "We gotta stop them," she says, clutching Spike's arm.   
  
Spike frowns at her hand and breaks the hold urgently.  
  
"I'm not sure we can," Willow says quietly, her eyes reflecting her distress and timidity.  
  
"Why not?" she asks, a little annoyed with Willow's drained, lifeless attitude.   
  
Willow releases a bitter chuckle. "C'mon, Xander."  
  
"What?" she asks. "What is it?"  
  
"When she sets her mind on something, it's impossible to change it," Spike says absentmindedly and starts to climb the stairs, Willow following him submissively.   
  
She feels something tight and painful swelling in her chest. She drops her gaze to the floor and walks up the stairs behind them.   
  
Upstairs, it's a disaster. She snaps out of her gloomy mood and rushes outside, Spike by her side. Blood, it's everywhere, blood on her girls.   
  
"Oh, God." She hears Willow's horrified whisper behind her as Spike jumps into the fray. She catches Xander in the middle of the mess, giving his own and managing to kill a few. He's not competent enough, misuses a kick and a punch now and then, but what he fails in skill he makes up for with his new found strength.   
  
She snatches the axe from one of the trembling girls next to her and attacks the vampire sinking its teeth in another girl's neck. She slashes his neck and doesn't wait for him to turn to dust as she moves toward the other vampire about to snack on another potential.   
  
A cold hand grabs her shoulder, and she spins around about to give the vampire a nice kick, except her leg feels heavy for some reason. She isn't flexible enough. She falls down, grunting at the strain in her thigh muscle.   
  
She doesn't get any time to breathe as the vampire sits on her, holding her wrists over her head. She bucks uselessly under him; he's so freaking strong. He leans forward toward her neck, and she gives him a head butt. He lets out a hiss of pain, and his hands loosen their grip on her wrists. She tries to pull herself out from under the vampire, but he recovers fast, and with a sudden move, he pins her again to the ground. This time, he uses one hand to hold her wrists and the other to keep her head in place. She tries to shove him away with her hips unsuccessfully.   
  
She's about to spit on him as a last resort, when he explodes to dust right in her face. She coughs hard and rubs the dust from her eyes before she notices Xander standing in front of her. She's caught by the gleam of joy in his eyes, and the proud, pleased smile curving his lips. "We finished them off," he says with delight, flipping his stake in the air, but failing to catch it.   
  
She scoffs, getting up and dusting the dirt from her pants. "Wouldn't have managed without my help."  
  
"Of course." He nods understanding.  
  
She stares him down. "No, I'm talking about the girls who almost got killed, Xa…" she catches herself when Xander warns her with his eyes.   
  
She bites back a sigh and looks around. Some of the girls are hurt, but nothing severe. Did she imagine the blood? She swears she saw more damage on these girls than that.  
  
"They fought well," Xander says proudly, smiling at each girl passing them by.  
  
"Not all of them. Some of them are trained enough, but others are new and should have been in the house." She gives him a pointed look, but he doesn't seem to like it.   
  
Xander shrugs. "No one objected. Not that they'd dare to," he mutters the last sentence.   
  
"What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
He gives her an exasperated look. "I did a good job. What's wrong with you?"  
  
"What's wrong with  _me_?"  
  
"Guys," Willow calls from inside the house, her face a picture of worry. "We need some help around here."  
  
They glance at each other warily, and then hurry to the house. She stops dead on her track when she sees three unconscious girls lying on the floor. Bite marks on their necks with blood streaming out, their faces filled with cuts, and their jeans are ripped showing visible bruises on their legs.   
  
"Oh, God," Xander whispers softly next to her. She turns her gaze to him, witnessing the broken expression as he tries to blink back tears.   
  
Shaking her head, she kneels on the floor and helps Willow, Dawn and Anya attending to the wounded.   
  
Seconds later, she notices Xander walking lifelessly to the stairs. His shoulders are slumped pathetically as he makes his way up the stairs.   
  
Willow sighs. "I should talk to her."  
  
"No," she says. "I'll do it."  
  
She walks to the stairs, but stops short when she overhears two potentials in the kitchen.   
  
"That was one retarded plan."  
  
"I knew that from the beginning."  
  
"Yeah, but could you say anything to her?"  
  
"There's a lot I want to say to her. Since that long speech about how much we suck."  
  
"She thinks she's the It girl. But she's just some nut job who doesn't care whether we live or die."   
  
"It's not fair. Just give me her powers and I'll show you who sucks."  
  
Her hand clutches the banister tightly, but she doesn't interrupt them or even go in. She's stung by the harsh words and cold tone. She knows there's a lot of doubt and disrespect, but she always thought it's rooted in fear, but after hearing that she knows it's more than that.   
  
"You said nothing."  
  
She twirls around and sees Andrew standing behind her. She glances at the kitchen again, and then directs her gaze to the steps. "Was I supposed to say anything?"  
  
"You'd defend her. Usually."   
  
"I do?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
A small smile tugs on her lips, and she feels some warmth inside.   
  
  
  
  
  
  


~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
He sits alone in the dark, nothing but the moon's light to make out the shapes surrounding him. He still hears the racket downstairs, but it's not louder than the sound of his raging heartbeat. The warm bed sheet underneath him doesn't comfort him; neither does the soft pillow at his back.   
  
He screwed up. He really, really screwed up. If it wasn't for Spike taking out most of the vampires, things would have gone worse. What was he thinking? He wasn't thinking. He just wanted to know what it's like to be the Slayer, to get a taste of it.   
  
He can still hear the sound of the battle, still feel his adrenaline racing through his veins. The power that he never had before existing in his body, urging him to use it. It wasn't the first time he'd ever staked a vampire; he'd done so before, but he never felt the thrill of the kill. Nothing like he had felt a few minutes ago. The second he stakes a vampire, he goes for another, and he feels hungrier for it the more he stakes. These new emotions going inside him are making him lightheaded, like he smoked weed or something.   
  
He snaps out of his thoughts at the sound of the door opening. His old face appears through the small crack. "Can I come in?" Buffy says softly.  
  
He shrugs and looks away.  
  
She turns on the lights, making him blink slightly to adjust to the brightness. He pulls his knees closer to his chest, rubbing his feet together, which doesn't feel as good as if his feet are bare, even with the silky socks.   
  
Buffy sits on the edge of the bed, touching the bed sheet tenderly. He wonders if she's thinking about her mother right now.  
  
"I don't sleep here anymore."  
  
"You used to sleep here."  
  
"It's Willow's again. Didn't you know?"  
  
He remembers last summer, when it was just him, Buffy and Dawn. He remembers that night when he fixed the window, how painful it was. As he had worked on it, he couldn't shake the thought of the bullet that broke the glass and killed Tara. He found Buffy asleep in bed after he was done, and she slept there ever since. Apparently, she doesn't anymore. Not that they talk about small stuff like this these days.   
  
"Where do you sleep then?"  
  
She doesn't answer right away, thinks about it a little. "Here and there."  
  
He looks up at her, but she isn't meeting his gaze. Hers is still on the bed, wistful and calm. "You don't sleep." She frowns up at him. "I know. Tried to talk you into having some rest before, remember?"  
  
She smiles. "Yeah, you did."  
  
He tries to smile back, but the images of the injured girls flash before him, wearing him down. He drops his forehead on his bended knees. "What have I done?" he whimpers, his arms hugging his legs to him.   
  
He hears Buffy sigh. "Look, we can't afford irrational decisions. Anything you wanna say, you have to run by me first."  
  
Something tugs deep inside him. He glares up at her. "I can do this."  
  
She raises an eyebrow. "Judging by the sight in the living room, I beg to differ."  
  
"I'm in charge at work. I know how to lead."  
  
"Ordering potential Slayers isn't like putting two dull bricks on top of each other." She reflects on what she said. "Wow. Does sarcasm out of your mouth  _always_  hits its mark?"  
  
"It's not as easy as you make it sound," he retorts. "One single mistake and the building falls on people's heads."   
  
"You see, I know nothing about construction, and you know nothing about this. We can't be each other, okay?" She closes her eyes wearily and heaves another sigh. "God, I wish things could go back to normal."   
  
He feels a muscle in his jaw working. "Better end this conversation before it gets to the First's ears," he says tightly. He crawls out of the bed and puts on his shoes, going straight to the door.   
  
"Oh, and by the way," he stops and turns around to face Buffy's irritated expression, "I'm not always frowny and grumpy. I occasionally smile and throw a few jokes. Laugh-inducing jokes."   
  
He waves off what she said. "Oh, please, you so don't do that. I'm starting to think you forgot your funny face." He crosses his arms and smirks.   
  
Buffy gasps. "I'd never forget my funny face."  
  
"Show me." He narrows his eyes challengingly.   
  
Buffy frowns, crosses her eyes and then hesitantly sticks her tongue out.  
  
He scoffs. "Actually, it’s more like this." He lifts his eyebrows, sucks in his cheeks, opens his mouth in a funny shape, and his tongue slips out.   
  
"Okay, that's cheating. You see my face more than I do."   
  
He nods at the pictures on the bedside table where a picture of Buffy and Dawn making faces is very clear.   
  
She looks back at him with a pout. "I told you. I don't sleep here anymore."  
  
"Yeah, well…" He doesn't get to finish as a laugh escapes his mouth. "Stop…" He giggles some more. "Don't…"  
  
"What?" Buffy says, her lower lip sticking out further.  
  
"Oh, please, don't! I don't do pouts. Stop making stupid faces with my face."  
  
"C'mon." She heads to the mirror. "You can pull a pouty face." She does a pathetic kicked-out puppy dog face, and she can't control herself; she barks a loud laugh that mingles with his.   
  
They stare at each other for a second, laughing slightly, before he pulls a serious face. "That's… inappropriate. There are injured girls downstairs."  
  
Buffy covers her face with both hands. "Yeah." She runs a hand through her short hair and looks down at him. "We better keep the act until things get back to normal."  
  
"Shouldn't we try to find how to get back to normal?"  
  
"We already said too much here, I won't be surprised if the First figured it out already."  
  
His heart lurches. "Then there'll be another attack. A bigger one."  
  
"I guess so." She notices his troubled expression and places a comforting hand on his shoulder. "We gotta get back to training. Use every second." She squeezes his shoulder gently and then takes a step backward, straightening her back. "Now, disguise," she orders.   
  
He glares and crosses his arms. She drops her arms to her sides and flashes a wide grin.   
  
"I don't do that!"   
  
  
  
  
  


~*~*~*~


	2. Chapter 2

  
  


** Put Yourself in My Shoes **

  
  
  
  
  
  


_Part Two_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
She places the last wounded girl on her own bed gently and arranges the pillow to make her more comfortable. She takes a step back and stares at the girl. A large band-aid covers her neck where she was bitten, and a larger bandage covers her bruised and swollen face. Rona had demanded that the girl be taken to a hospital, but she had convinced Rona that she wouldn't be safe there without "Buffy" to protect her. That was followed with a snide comment that made Xander more upset than he already was.   
  
"This is the last one?" She hears Xander's low voice from the door. He hugs himself in a failed attempt to cross his arms over his chest. Guilt is tearing him apart, and the sight of casualties is more upsetting because  _he_  was the one who instituted that plan.   
  
"Yeah, the others are in Willow's room."  
  
He nods lifelessly, his gaze glued to the floor, filled with remorse.   
  
"Don't show weakness," she instructs. "I save my sad face for when I'm alone."  
  
"Yeah, figured as much a while ago." Xander manages a weak lopsided smile at her. "You know, there's nothing wrong with talking about stuff with friends."  
  
"Stop it," she says with a sigh. "The act, remember?"  
  
"Right. No sad face." He takes a deep breath and then gives her a determined stare. "Blink."   
  
"What?"  
  
"You should blink more often."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"It's what I do. Blinking."  
  
"Since when?"  
  
"You've never noticed?"  
  
She feels a twinge of guilt mixed with sudden weariness. She really doesn't want to go there, because, yes, she never noticed.   
  
"Okay, I'll blink."  
  
Willow peers abruptly from behind Xander. "Xander?"  
  
It takes her a few seconds to realize that  _she's_  "Xander". She doesn't miss the real Xander's soft snicker when she blurts out, "Yes!"  
  
"Anya is complaining with yawns and curses. She says you promised to drop her home on your way to your place, and it's already hours past her bedtime." Willow's smile is both humorous and nervous. "She's getting really testy."  
  
Xander's smirk grows naughtier.  
  
"Great," she mutters under her breath. She catches Xander's glare and awkwardly starts blinking.   
  
"Better take her now before she gets crotchetier," Willow says sympathetically.   
  
She doesn't stop blinking.   
  
"Uh, Xander, are you okay?"  
  
This time she blinks for real, and Xander cracks up laughing.   
  
  
  
  


~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
  
The house is such a mess: broken windows, broken chairs, broken front door –that can't be good. What if something that doesn't need an invite marches in here and eats them all? He can't repair it while in this body. He has to be Xander again, and Buffy has got to be Buffy again, or else they're all doomed to die. If only he can remember how Jodie Foster and her mother switched back in  _Freaky Friday_.   
  
He glances at the potentials in the living room. They'd cleaned up the broken glass and are settled in their sleeping bags now. They've been whispering since he came downstairs, and judging by the unfriendly glances, he knows he won't like hearing what they're saying.   
  
Heaving a sigh, he goes to the kitchen. He stops short when he notices Dawn with a box of Cocoa Puffs and a milk carton, her face covered with band-aids.   
  
"Cocoa Puffs at this hour?" he teases.  
  
"I've earned it. I dusted two vampires." She flashes him a big smile.  
  
The reminder of that disaster wears him down, and she notices. "Hey, we did good," she says soothingly. "We got rid of them."  
  
"But not without a price," he mutters.  
  
"The girls will be fine, Buffy," Dawn reasons. "It's not like anyone died."   
  
Yeah, but they weren't ready to fight. They were new, and he shouldn't have forced them to fight unprepared. His eyes can't leave the band-aids on Dawn's face. And just before he's about to wallow on the fact that he's also to be blamed for that, he remembers: Dawn standing on top of the basement stairs, her face bruised.   
  
"You fought Sandra," he says with realization. "You held her down long enough to warn us about her and the vampires."  
  
Dawn stares at him, looking like she's taken aback by his noticing that. "Yeah, I knocked her against the living room table, broke it in half." She ducks her head bashfully. "Sorry."  
  
He sighs. One more broken thing to fix.   
  
"Buffy." He returns his gaze to Dawn; she's looking at him with a serious expression. "Don't beat yourself up over tonight. Not everybody's gonna make it."   
  
"I know," he whispers. "But that was just a vampire attack. I'd like to keep everybody alive at least until a real fight."  
  
"We are alive. Bruised and injured, but not dead."   
  
"Because of you," he says with a grateful smile.  
  
She regards him with stunned eyes, and he hates that look on her face.  
  
"You kept Sandra away long enough to warn us. And the way you fought out there; you were better than many of the oldest potentials." He wants to add that she's the definition of extraordinary, but knows better than to say that.  
  
Dawn's eyes are brilliant with unshed tears. "Buffy…" she says, touched. She gives a hint of a shrug before saying with a shy smile, "Well, I was taught by the best."  
  
He wonders why he never asked Buffy to train him. When they were still in high school, Buffy and Giles made it absolutely clear that the fight wasn't Xander or Willow's responsibility, that they shouldn't risk their lives when Buffy was around. And it stayed Buffy's mission throughout the years. Willow had gotten her ticket to the Powerful and Important Club with her inherited magic skills, but she doesn't know jack when it comes to fighting. Same goes for every one of them, except Buffy and Giles, and now Dawn.   
  
He stares at her while she devours her midnight breakfast. "So, you kicked her ass?"  
  
She looks up, chewing a mouthful of Cocoa Puffs. "Hmmm?"   
  
He shrugs. "I wanna know how you beat Sandra down."  
  
Dawn swallows everything quickly, coughs once, and then hangs her mouth open. "Really? Why would you wanna know about that?"  
  
He feels blood rushing to his cheeks. "It sounded cool."  
  
Dawn's lips curve up to form the brightest smile he's ever seen. "It was  _totally_  cool. Here, let me show you."   
  
She stands up with enthusiasm, scraping her chair against the floor. "At first I was too shocked when she showed her fangs, and she grabbed me for a quick nip. I snapped out of it at once and gave her a head butt. And then, I spun and kicked her in the face." As Dawn describes what she did without taking a breath, she demonstrates with her hands and legs.   
  
He can't help but imitate her as she spins and kicks, then punches with her fist. He's so engrossed in what he's doing, he doesn't notice when Dawn stops talking and stares at him, befuddled.   
  
"Uh, Buffy? What are you doing?"  
  
"Um, I just… I wanna experience my little sis's victory. And kick!" He knocks the kitchen table with everything on it to the floor. The bowl and glass crash, the Cocoa Puffs are all over the floor, and one of the table's legs breaks out of its place.   
  
"Excuse me, some of us are trying to sleep here," Rona's angry voice reaches the kitchen.  
  
He winces at the mess. "Shit."  
  
"Don't worry. Xander will fix it," Dawn reassures him.   
  
He's not counting on it.   
  
  
  
  
  


~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
  
  
She snaps her eyes open and winces when she catches the steam pouring out of the hood of Xander's car. She doesn't dare to go out and check the condition of the car, since she can perfectly predict that it looks nasty.   
  
"What the hell, Harris?" Anya complains, sitting next to her and clutching her seatbelt appreciatively. "Crashing into a tree? Can't you focus?"  
  
She grits her teeth, counting inwardly from one to ten to calm herself down. "Not through the non-stop nagging since we left the house," she mutters, irritated.   
  
"You're used to that. That's not it. What were you thinking about?"  
  
The fact that she still can't drive, she thinks. "Nothing."  
  
Anya eyes her calculatingly. "You softie. The sight of the wounded was too much for you?"   
  
Xander's broken expression flashes before her. She closes her eyes, holding in a sigh. "No, it's not that."  
  
"Don't lie to me. I know what you're thinking. Buffy got in over her head again. We all heard the "Buffy Rocks" speech yesterday. Because of her stupid ideas, more girls got hurt. She just doesn't care, now does she? She didn't care about Chloe's death, and she doesn't care that…"  
  
She clutches to the wheel tightly, her knuckles are turning white. "Will you just  _shut up_!" she yells, facing Anya, who looks completely stunned. "She made a mistake, okay? And it's eating her up what happened to those girls. Everybody is on her case, all tearing her down. Why don't you just back off?"  
  
Anya's shocked expression devolves into exasperation. "You always side with her. Just once I'd like you to take my side."  
  
"Maybe if you work as hard as she does. But all you do is sit around and whine. You do nothing to help. You're just…" she stops immediately when she notices Anya's lower lip twitching.  
  
"I'm just what?" Anya asks tightly.  
  
She bites her lower lip, knowing that she went too far. "Anya, I…"  
  
"Typical," Anya spits out as she storms out of the car.   
  
"Anya, wait," she yells, getting out of the car herself. She rushes after Anya and takes a hold of her arm. "You can't walk home alone at this hour. I'll…"  
  
Anya snatches her arm out of her grip, twirls to meet her eyes. "You'll what, protect me? Like you protected yourself when Buffy saved your ass?"  
  
She wants to say something, but she's caught by Anya's glassy eyes, shining with tears.  
  
Anya takes a deep breath, trying hard to hold the tears in. "Do you have any idea how scared I was? You always do that, Xander. You always jump into a fight too big for you, and you almost got killed."  
  
She stares at Anya, as if seeing her for the first time. She never doubted that Anya loves Xander, even after they broke up, but she never really saw the genuine tears, the worry, and the hurt in Anya's eyes because of what "Xander" just said to her. All she used to see were the jokes, how long before Anya reveals something funny about their relationship that'll make Xander too uncomfortable.   
  
Anya turns around and starts walking away. "Don't you dare follow me!"   
  
And she doesn't. She just stares at Anya's retreating back, Anya's hair flying from left to right due to her angry stride.  
  
Something inside her squeezes painfully. She doesn't look away until Anya disappears from her view. Turning around, she winces again at the sight of the damaged wreck that is Xander's car. She releases a sigh and walks away, her head downcast.   
  
It hasn't been the easiest night. How can she be so blind to what's going on around her? She's been so engrossed in training and planning she missed a lot. It hurt so much: Willow's reluctant faith in her, Spike's words, Xander's portrayal of her, the girls' resentment of her, and now what Anya said about her. Did she really turn into this person? Someone who brings others down instead of inspiring them to do better? She thought she was pushing others to their highest potential, Willow even said that they needed that. Maybe Willow just said that to spare her feelings, Willow always does that.   
  
She stops short when she sees her house in front of her. Crap, she's supposed to go to Xander's apartment. She pats her pockets and finds nothing there; she forgot the keys in the car. She nibbles on her lips despairingly.   
  
The front door swings open with a squeak. She narrows her eyes at the door, wondering who comes out at this hour. She's not that surprised when Spike walks out, shoulders a little slumped, but he appears a lot more confident after he fetched his coat from the school.   
  
"Spike, where are you going?" she asks, quite intrigued to be alone with him.   
  
Spike scoffs. "Can't take the whining and weeping. Thought I'll take a stroll in the cemetery."   
  
She can't help but say, "Can I come with?"  
  
Spike eyes her warily.  
  
It does sound suspicious of "Xander" to ask Spike if he could tag along. She has to be more careful. This is the first time she's been alone with Spike since the switch. She has to act like Xander. She ditches the big grin; somehow Xander grinning at Spike in such a friendly manner sounds so wrong. "I just… I'm in the mood for some good vamp-dusting. Uh, evil, non-soul-having vampires," she amends quickly. Spike still doesn't look convinced. She sighs dramatically. "Anya and I had a fight."  
  
Spike nods, still looking skeptical. "Don't you have work tomorrow?"  
  
She sucks on her bottom lip. Shit! Xander's construction job, double shit! The last thing she needs is lifting heavy objects under Sunnydale's burning sun and sweating like a pig.   
  
"Can’t sleep," she says desperately. "Really wanna do that killing thing."  
  
After making clear that the idea doesn't appeal to him –what with the bored and long-suffering facial expressions and sighs- Spike finally gestures for her to follow him. No words are exchanged. She doesn't mind, if they talked he'd figure it out, Spike has always been shrewd.   
  
She catches him stuffing his hand in his pocket, bringing out a cigarette packet and his lighter.   
  
"You're smoking now?" she asks, a little astonished.   
  
He doesn't answer her. He leans forwards cupping his hand in front of his mouth, flicking his lighter and then bringing the little flame to his cigarette.   
  
"I haven't seen you smoke since you came back with the soul."  
  
Spike puffs on his cigarette and blows the smoke in the air. "She wanted the old Spike back, and he isn't just the jacket."  
  
"Oh." She's not sure how to feel about this. She doesn't hear resentment though --that's a plus. "You mean, what Buffy said… the other day. Night. The "She Rocks" speech," she mumbles the last part, remembering what Anya said to her.   
  
"Good speech, that was."  
  
She looks up, surprised.  
  
"Needed that push. I was too worried about being good, and it's not what she wants right now. This is war, and she needs a warrior by her side." Spike blows out a stream of smoke, his gaze never on her throughout their talk.   
  
She feels sudden warmth seeping into her heart before she remembers what he said in the basement earlier tonight. "But you said… I mean, what you said in the basement…"  
  
"What about it?" This is the first time he looks at her since they left the house. His eyes are cold, not the same warm gaze she's used to. This is how Spike is to Xander, cold, not welcoming, distant. No wonder Xander doesn't understand what she sees in him.   
  
When she doesn't answer, Spike looks away. "She's a stubborn one. But she earned it. I'll follow her to the end." He drops his cigarette butt onto the pavement and grinds it out under his boot.   
  
She stares at him, touched, her lips curving into a small contented smile. It vanishes quickly when she spots Xander's car on the other side of the road. It's the same wreck she left, and its doors are still wide open. "Uh, Spike, could you wait just a sec?"   
  
She runs to the car, and peers at the inside from the driver's door. Xander's keys are still there. She heaves a sigh of relief and snatches them, and before she goes back to Spike, she checks the inside of the car and the trunk to make sure nothing valuable is there.   
  
As she walks to the other side, she finds Spike still standing on the other side, waiting for her. A new cigarette sticks out of his mouth, its smoke waving in the air.   
  
The rest of the walk to the cemetery passes without talking. She's not sure what Xander and Spike usually talk about, and she's not in the mood to rile Spike up. She hasn't been into that for a while now. Besides, if she gets him angry, he'll probably send her away, and that's another thing she doesn't want.   
  
A vampire appears at sight, roaming aimlessly in the cemetery. He's got a wrestler's body with too much muscle and big build. His eyes fall on her, and a hungry smile rises to his lips. She glances at Spike and notes the glint of thrill in his eyes; Spike is back, all right.   
  
Spike charges at the vampire as rough ridges appear on his forehead, and he flashes out his fangs. They engage in a violent showdown while she stands some distance away, watching them.   
  
She shakes with frustration, looking down at her newly powerless body. She's not as strong, nor as fast, nor as flexible as she used to be. She doesn't even have a weapon in her hands. But she can't just stand here helplessly while Spike takes care of the vampire by himself.   
  
Her head snaps up, and her eyes burn with intensity, which is when the vampire knocks Spike down a few graves away. She sprints toward the vampire and punches him in the nose. He recoils, stunned for a brief second, then growls angrily at her. She doesn't waste a second as she gives him another punch.   
  
The vampire doesn't look pleased at all, and he pounces at her. She dodges his attack, glancing at her leg, aching to use it, but thinks about the strain she got earlier. Xander isn't that flexible, and she can't really remember if he ever used his legs in a fight.   
  
She snaps out of her thoughts at once when she hears Spike growling at the vampire. Spike jumps and double-kicks the vampire high in the chest, knocking the vampire to the ground.   
  
She launches herself over a tombstone and jumps on the vampire, still lying on the ground, and beats on him non-stop. All of a sudden, the vampire grabs her wrist and flings her hard into a tombstone. She clenches her teeth as mind-numbing pain shoots all over her back like the stabs of knives.   
  
Through squinting eyes, she watches Spike backhanding the vampire hard. The vampire rises to his feet, only to be punched to the ground. The punches go on forever, and it's time to turn the vampire to dust. As Spike reaches for his stake, the vampire kicks it away before Spike even touches it.   
  
She can feel her eyes sparkling as she stares at the stake on the ground a few steps away from her. She keeps staring at it, her panting slowing down gradually. She glances at Spike, still fighting the vampire, and then she crawls to the stake despite the unbearable pain in her back.   
  
She takes a hold of it, feeling the wood in her hand, and her grip tightens on it. She stands up with difficulty, looking at Spike and the vampire fighting to the death.   
  
Her eyes narrow as she waits for the right moment. When the vampire kicks Spike against a tombstone, she leaps to her feet and punches the vampire hard in the face. Not waiting a second, she spins and kicks the vampire in the shins. She lifts him up by holding his throat and stabs him in the heart.   
  
She doesn't wait for him to turn to dust as she drops to her feet, breathing heavily. Fighting without powers isn't easy at all, she gets worn out so quickly.   
  
"That move…"  
  
She turns around and sees Spike's wide eyes, his finger pointing at her.   
  
"Learned that from Buffy," she says confidently through gasps. She's used to the game by now, and she's become accustomed to who she is on the outside.   
  
"Never seen you fight like this," Spike says apprehensively. "Almost thought you were someone else."  
  
She regards him with a solid stare. "It's because I used the power I have."  
  
Spike doesn't say much for seconds, just stares at her. "Just like Buffy."  
  
She nods. "Just like Buffy."  
  
Spike's gaze doesn't leave her still, stays on her for a while more, studying her, seeing her. And then, a hint of a smile twitches at his lips.   
  
Either this is the first smile Spike's ever given to Xander or he's actually figured out who she really is.   
  
  
  
  


~*~*~*~

 


	3. Chapter 3

  
  


  
****

Made by [](http://moscow-watcher.livejournal.com/profile)[ **moscow_watcher**](http://moscow-watcher.livejournal.com/)  


****  
  
  
  
  
  


** Put Yourself in My Shoes **

  
  
  
  
  
  


_Part Three_

  
  
  
  
  
  
The sun blazes down on the potentials as they train in the backyard, fists punching in the air, stretching their uncovered arms. The day is sweltering hot. He keeps wiping the sweat from his brow and neck. It's like the sun is targeting him. He squints his eyes, focusing on the neat square the potentials are forming, engrossed in their synchronization and smooth moves. They're keeping up nicely with each other, looking like they've got it all down pat, ready to face whatever is out there, which will probably strike tonight. A slash of fear rips through him and forces his eyes shut. He takes a needed breath and bites his bottom lip. What happened yesterday will not happen tonight. No more bloodshed -- he'll make sure of that.   
  
He directs his head toward the sun and feels it shining on him intensely. The bead of sweat trailing down his cheek is a comfortable reminder of sunshine. Everything seems all right in daylight, safe and reassuring. He wishes he can keep the sun, let it guard them with its warm rays, and burns down whatever evil that wants to harm them.   
  
"Cross, block, kick!"  
  
He shifts his gaze to Kennedy barking out orders in a confidence he admires and envies. She's doing the job well enough on her own. He doubts if she needs him for anything.   
  
Usually that thought gets him down, but right now he's glad he can leave things to her so he can go and check on the girls upstairs. He was relieved when Tina awakened last night and happier when Bella is able to ask for water this morning. He hopes Alice has gained conscious already; she was in a bad shape when he'd left this morning. It was hard enough watching her friends crying by her side all night long. Maybe he should take her to the hospital, leave someone by her side there. Someone capable of protecting her.   
  
He flinches back when he comes face to face with…  _his_  face. Like looking into a door-sized mirror or the face of his double from a couple of years ago. He can use a Xander who's got it all together without the fumbling parts of his personality right now, exactly what they need to stop the apocalypse looming over them.   
  
Getting over the initial shock, he grins. "Hey, you're back."   
  
He probably didn't notice it at first, but the face before him has angry stamped all over it. He can easily picture angry steam pushing out of those flared nostrils. "Where the hell were you?"   
  
Her cheeks are slightly inflamed and reddish from standing hours under the sun and her hair flat and greasy from being trapped under the hardhat. A smug grin tugs on his lips as he takes delight at her suffering. He likes it a tad too much when they realize he doesn't have it easy.   
  
Buffy keeps going on and on about her lousy day. "I was swarmed with hundreds of construction questions I did  _not_  understand. You didn't answer any of my calls." She narrows her eyes at him. "Where were you?"  
  
His grin grows bigger. "I was locking bullies in lockers."  
  
She's pulling off the blinking thing really well. "What?"  
  
He shrugs. "They were bullying. I was sent to the principal's office, but I don't care. Those bullies are gonna think twice before they hurt anyone else."  
  
Buffy's jaw drops down. "Are you trying to get me fired to avenge your past of locker trauma?"  
  
His face prickles with embarrassment. "A little. Not the trying to get you fired part."  
  
Buffy narrows her eyes, nostrils still flaring, hands about to go for his throat but don't. After all, it's  _her_  throat. She shakes her head and turns her attention to the potentials, the frown returns to her face. "What are they doing?" She walks past him to take a closer look. "Weren't they doing exactly the same thing yesterday?"  
  
Something pinches inside. He knows there will be criticism and objections. "Yeah, I figured repetition helps mastering skills."   
  
"We're not teaching babies how to talk here."  
  
He sighs, scratching his moist neck. "You saw what happened yesterday. These girls aren't ready."  
  
She faces him with her arms crossed, hard lines shadowing her determined face. "Look, I'm the Slayer. I get to decide how to get them ready."  
  
And here she goes busting his chops. He imitates her posture, stares her down. "Not anymore."  
  
"What?"  
  
He keeps the hard stare, hands clutching his arms tightly. "You're not in charge. Your job is to whittle our stakes, make them sharp and ready before the next fight."  
  
"What… what the hell are you…?"  
  
"I'm sorry, but I'm in charge here. I know what I'm doing."  
  
He starts leaving before she says something else. His steps quicken towards the basement, the nearest exit, wanting to get away before he gets pulled into an argument he'll definitely lose. He knows he's wrong, knows she's right, knows he knows jack about what he's doing here. He will never pull together something as big as this. What they all need right now is Buffy. She alone knows how to win the battle.   
  
He stops on the last step of the stairs, leans his forehead against the wall, his mind a whirl of confusion. He's way past this by now, learned a long time ago that he's not the hero, and it's okay that he isn't. He's the hero at work, the big shot, Buffy couldn't last a day in there, right?   
  
"Fuck," he hisses, snapping his eyes shut and hitting his forehead against the wall. He's too old for this. God, it has to stop.   
  
"You all right?"  
  
He curses under his breath again. The last thing he needs is Spike and his calculating eyes. He reluctantly pushes himself off the wall and rubs his forehead. "Yeah," he whispers it too low that nothing comes out of his mouth but a puff of breath.   
  
There's a moment of silence, his fingers are digging into the sides of his forehead in an attempt to quill a non-existing headache.   
  
"They can be a handful," Spike says sympathetically.  
  
"What? No, it's not… well, yeah it is." He heaves a long suffering sigh and looks at Spike. "Last night was a disaster."   
  
He feels his brow twitching; a little taken aback by the way Spike is looking at him. Blue eyes are filled with understanding and compassion, a quiet expression waiting for him to talk, attentive and ready to listen. His foot edges to the next step of the stairs wanting to run away from that foreign face, but the blue eyes are capturing him, the weight on his chest about to make him collapse. He takes a hold of the banister and looks away at the wall. "I wish we had more help," he admits, gaze not leaving the wall, cold, hard and gray. "I can't do it all by myself."  
  
There's a soft sigh from Spike's direction, and his feminine hand clasps on the wooden banister so tightly it almost breaks. He lets go of it in an instant and notes the damage his fingers left.   
  
"That's why I'm here," Spike's voice reaches his ears. "I promised to be here 'til the end."  
  
There's so much passion in those eyes, overpowering him, making him back away until his back hits the wall. There's more comfort and reassurance in those softly spoken words than in the sun's warm light. A small smile tugs his lips, but doesn't manage to lift up the corners. "That's… a relief," he says, tearing his gaze from the sympathetic expression to the bare chest. He swallows. "You, um, you don't have your shirt on."  
  
"I was working out," Spike says and inclines his head toward the punching bag.   
  
He knits his eyebrows. "Doesn't excuse the lack of shirt. Unless you sweat. Not that I have the slightest idea if vampires produce sweat."  
  
Spike raises his eyebrows so high wrinkling his forehead.   
  
He feels a flush of embarrassment rise up. "I guess I do."  
  
Spike stares at him hard, making him a tad uncomfortable, as though he were looking right into his soul. He has no doubt that Spike can see right through his act, can see that he's nothing but a coward hiding inside the Slayer. He should get out of here before he slips again; Buffy won't like it if he screws this up as well.   
  
The deafening sound of a blow interrupts the awkward silence. He looks up and watches Spike attacking the punching bag with great speed and intense cruelty. His eyes are caught with the flying fists fleeting back and forth, unable to make them out. He lowers his gaze to his hands, looking somewhat delicate yet rough and dry. The pit of his stomach flutters at the thought driving those small hands into the punching bag, fast and hard.   
  
His instincts jump when he hears the screaming from upstairs. His eyes lock with Spike's confused ones for a second and then both of them stride up the stairs.   
  
  
  
  


~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
  
She frowns at the broken piece of wood when she hears the noise coming from outside. She tosses it on the floor and rushes out of the kitchen to the back yard, her frown deepening when she finds Kennedy and Rona going at each other like a couple of mad dogs. The other girls are forming a circle around them, frozen in place with their eyes wide like saucers, showing no attempt to break the fight.   
  
"What happened?" Xander asks behind her, his voice high pitched with shock.   
  
"I don't know. Dawn told me to check the table in the kitchen…" she trails off, exhaustion overwhelming her ability to speak. She drags herself toward the circle of girls, really not in the mood to deal with this. She's desperate for a shower after the long hours working in the construction site and maybe a massage because every muscle in her body feels cramped and stiff.   
  
She elbows a couple of girls away and grabs Rona's shoulder with one hand and Kennedy's with the other and pushes them apart. "This ends now," she snaps, sounding more intimidating with a male voice, exhaustion makes her a little testy.   
  
Kennedy fights against her grip. "She's a jealous raving loon."  
  
"And you're a dictatorial tyrant," Rona spits out in anger.   
  
"Don't come down like a ton of bricks 'cause I'm doing my job right."  
  
She grabs both Rona's arms before she launches at Kennedy and throws her to the ground. She turns around to give Kennedy a stern glare. "Enough. That's neither of your jobs. It's mine."  
  
Kennedy quirks an eyebrow. "Yours?"  
  
"I mean Buffy," she grits, turning her eyes toward Xander, standing uselessly by the door. "Say something," she mouths irritably, wincing when she notices Spike standing next to Xander, a faint crease between his eyebrows.   
  
Xander folds his arms around his chest and walks toward them, wearing a strict expression. "How did this happen?"  
  
One of the potentials ventures into answering, throwing a couple of unsure glances at Kennedy. "We were training outside when Alice came…"  
  
Xander's face is stricken with absolute horror. "Alice?"  
  
She turns to Xander with a frown. "Who's Alice?"  
  
Xander starts running into the house. She doesn't waste a second trying to figure out what's wrong with him as she runs right after him, following him up the stairs and toward her bedroom, her mind already having worked out what had happened.   
  
She finds him backing up from the bed, back hitting the wall, knees buckling and lips trembling. She rushes toward the bed and presses her thumb on the girl's pulse. Nothing. Her eyes squeeze shut briefly, stomach lurching and chest constricting with grief. She straightens her back and looks at Xander rocking on the floor, her lips a thin line. "Get up," she instructs harshly.   
  
She can't bear looking at herself on the floor, looking small and pathetic. Her hands form a tight fist, shaking with frustration. "Get up," she repeats, her voice louder and harsher.  
  
"I killed her," Xander mumbles, lost and scared. "I did this."  
  
"You didn't do this. She's a fighter. She died fighting."   
  
He looks up at her, his eyes are rimmed with tears. "She was fifteen."  
  
Her stomach turns inside out, and her fist loosens slightly, but she pushes the old memories aside and hardens her stare. She takes a step forward, about to grab his shoulders and force him to his feet.   
  
"So, I see you figured it out," a feminine voice sounds from the door. Alice's face smirks down at Xander, clear of bruises and wounds, perfectly smooth and bright. "I wonder which girl I'll choose the next time. If this is how you react to random girls, I'd love to see your reaction had I picked your sister."  
  
She bites back every comeback she has, knowing that it'll only make the First suspicious. She throws a desperate glance at Xander, begging him to pull himself together and act like the Slayer.   
  
The First crouches down in front of Xander, all she can see is the long brown hair, hiding Xander's face. "You and your pipsqueak are no match for me. Might as well give up. I'll never stop until I finish them all." The First tilts its head to the side. "I'll save the best for last. I want you to witness it all."  
  
She hears a shuddering breath coming from Xander, but he says nothing.   
  
"Nothing to say to that?" The First slaps its palms on its thighs and rises to its feet. "Sad, I never get tired of your silly threats."   
  
It vanishes before her eyes, and all she can see is Xander's hollow expression. Her firm fists start to shake as she feels her jaw tightening and the muscles standing out in her neck. Two girls in one week, and before she knows it, everybody will be dead within a few days. Time is getting out of her hands, and she's stuck in this body for what seems to be a long time. She has to find a way to switch their bodies back, and with a glance at Xander's shivering form; she realizes she has to find it sooner than later.   
  
"Was that the First?"  
  
Spike regards her with unreadable eyes; something in his gaze sends her hand to her head, brushing her short hair back awkwardly. A reluctant sigh escapes her mouth, sounding like an answer, "Yeah."   
  
She straightens her back and looks at Xander, her large frame towering his small one. "Buffy, get up," she demands harsher than before this time.   
  
Xander stumbles to his feet and pushes her away, walking past Spike out of the room. She's about to follow him but the unreadable blue keeps her in place. He knows. She's sure of it. Spike figured it out.   
  
"Listen up, Alice is dead." Xander's loud voice from downstairs holds her attention and she finds herself rushing for the door, her shoulder brushing against Spike's as she makes her way toward the stairs. "That was the First," Xander continues while she jumps two steps at once. "From now on I need you to be more focused. We need to find a way to defeat the First."   
  
She almost runs over a couple of potentials huddled in the last step of the stairs, arms around each other, crying soundlessly. She glances at the living room and makes out Xander's blonde hair through the potentials standing in the doorway. "We better hit the books. All of us. The more of us working on this, the faster we'll get answers."  
  
She nudges one of the girls with her knee, the girl's tear-filled eyes gaze focused up at her. She orders her silently to move away. Both girls scoot a little, leaving a small room for her to make her way to the floor.   
  
"But we've already read these books, Buffy," Dawn's voice drifts from the living room.   
  
She pokes a potential's shoulder and asks her to step aside. Xander is standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed, back straight, still imitating her posture. "We obviously missed something," he says after a moment of thought.   
  
Dawn doesn't look convinced. "Or maybe the answer is in one of the books that got blown up with the council."  
  
"We can't defeat the First with our fists. We have to find its weakest spot, aim for that. Not with fists, 'cause those will go right through it," Xander says. "Grab a book and start reading."  
  
Everybody looks at one another in hesitance. Kennedy takes a step forward, a hard stare in her eyes, about to object.   
  
"Now," Xander snaps, making everybody jump and grab a book. Kennedy doesn't budge at first, but one sharp look from Xander and she rolls her eyes and takes the book Dawn offers her.   
  
Xander snatches a book from the table and starts walking toward the door. He stops short when he notices her. "Really? Reading?" Her eyebrows reach her hairline.   
  
He ignores her and keeps walking, letting out an annoyed breath when she grabs his arm and turns him around.   
  
"Instead of looking for a solution, how about they get to work?" she whispers heatedly. "Do something. Best solution is to train."   
  
He jerks his arm away. "How about you make us some weapons?"  
  
She stares at him, her lips a thin line. "That's all I do?"  
  
He sets his jaw grimly. "No, you also fix that table I broke last night."  
  
She watches him turn around and head out, his tone and words burning and tugging at her heart.   
  
"That was uncalled for."   
  
She turns around and sees Dawn's furrowed eyebrows, angry on her behalf.   
  
  
  
  


~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
  
He just screwed it up with Buffy again, didn't he? He needs to get a grip and soon, but it seems impossible under the circumstances. Girls keep getting injured and killed under his care, and he doesn't have a clue how to make it stop. He can't catch a break, can he? Everything falls on his shoulders, their deaths and their blood, and it's all too much for him. Every decision he makes has consequences, causes problems, ends with blood. No matter what he does, one of them gets hurt.   
  
Sounds of soft crying drift to his ears, and he stops in his track, seeing a couple of girls seated on the stairs embracing each other, their bodies trembling slightly. He can't make them out when their blonde heads are pressed against each other, faces hidden behind the silky locks and wavy hair. They're either scared or crying over what had happened to Alice. Either way, there's no time for tears and hugs. The First is taking them down, one after the other, and unless they find a way to defeat it once and for all, they'll all be dead before the next month is over.   
  
He clutches the book in his hands firmly, wearing a resolved expression. "Why aren't you researching?"  
  
The harshly spoken words startle them, and they jump out of each other's embrace. They look up at him with their faces red and swollen, tears running down their cheeks. Something painful balling in his chest, he watches them start wiping their tears, nodding submissively and rising to their feet.   
  
He narrows his eyes at them, recognizing their faces from last night. "She was your friend," his gentle voice stops them from making their way to the living room.   
  
The girl with the wavy hair – Anne, if he isn’t mistaken – sniffles softly and nods. "We were from the same town, were on the same plane and arrived in the same day."  
  
Her friend wipes her eye with her thumb. "We vowed to get out of this whole thing alive. The three of us."  
  
He stares at them intensely, feeling a sting in his eyes. "I promise no more deaths. We're gonna make it," he says in false show of determination.   
  
They glance at each other and then back at him. "You don't believe that," Anne mumbles sadly. "You said that most of us are going to die."  
  
He's about to object. He'd never said that, but no… he never said it, but Buffy did. He brushes a stray blonde lock from his face and tucks it behind his ear. His ponytail has loosened down barely tying his hair up; who thought doing a ponytail is going to be this hard? He'd braided Buffy and Willow's hair before, and he did it well, but obviously doing his own hair is far harder. He slips the headband off, feeling his hair falling to his shoulders. He gazes down at the headband in his hand, a few blond hairs tangles in it. If he can't pull his hair up in a ponytail, how can he lead twenty scared teenage girls?   
  
He sighs, lifting his gaze to the girls, tensing at the sadness and fear glittering in their eyes. "Research with the others," he says. "There's an answer in one of these books. Something we overlooked."  
  
They nod again and head to the living room. He lowers his gaze to the headband again, his hand starting to shake before closing on it, his fingernails digging into his palm painfully. He spits a hopeless curse and hurls the headband to the floor with frustration.   
  
He drops on the stairs with a sigh and reluctantly opens the book in his hands. A lot of words, big words, most of them need a dictionary. He snaps his book shut and curses again. "Alice," he whispers, placing the book down and going up the stairs.  
  
Her body lay still in the same position they left her, her face covered with a large bandage to hide the red from his eyes. A fifteen year old girl who had her whole life ahead of her is now lying lifeless on the Slayer's bed. It makes him think of all his classmates who didn't make it, their faces so young and fresh, killed on the high school campus on the Hellmouth. He never really thought of them this way before, maybe because they weren't his responsibility, maybe because most of them were faces that passed him in the school halls, no exchanged words, no acknowledgement. This girl had grinned and thanked him when he handed her the cereal box. She'd laughed at his quarrel with Andrew, she'd smacked her hand in her mouth when she and her friends walked on him in the shower, and she'd shed a few tears at Chloe's death, her eyes were a mirror of horror, as though she'd pictured herself in Chloe's place.  
  
He reaches his fingers to her brown hair and brushes it gently. Some will think of her as another body to bury, but to him, she'll always be Alice. The girl he failed.   
  
"You're not Buffy," a soft voice whispers in his ear, making his hand freeze on Alice' hair. He feels a hand taking a strong grip of his arm and squeezing. "You're not the First either."  
  
He straightens his back and stares right into Spike's eyes. "I'm Buffy," he insists.  
  
"Buffy is not a coward." The blue eyes are like ice, boring holes into his face.   
  
He turns his gaze to Alice. "You think I'm a coward?"  
  
"I think you're someone who fazes so easily. That's not Buffy."  
  
He keeps staring at Alice, what appeared of her face, her hair, her bandaged neck. She's just another body to some, but she can't be that to him. He can never see her as causality. That's too harsh. She was a person just like himself. Same goes for all these girls downstairs, who may ultimately be as unfortunate as Alice.  _I'll never stop until I finish them all. I'll save the best for last. I want you to witness it all._  Something swells in his chest and he turns angry eyes at Spike. "I don't think you know me as well as you think."   
  
He leans toward Alice and picks her up, throwing with one last hard stare at Spike. He gently places Alice on his shoulder and walks out of the bedroom, climbing down the stairs. He stops in the foyer and spots Anne and her friend in the living room, glued to each other on the floor, a large book spread open on their laps. He opens his mouth, about to call them, his lips quiver as he considers what he's about to do and then closes his mouth. He walks silently towards the door and grabs the shovel they'd left next to the door the other night.   
  
Another body to bury. He digs and digs, tears stinging his eyes, shoveling one layer of dirt after another. Just another body. No time for funerals, no time for a memorial. They don't even have time to say a few words about her. She was a girl before she became a potential, she was a person in her own right. But, no, grieving for her is weakness, makes a lousy leader. Good leaders keep their emotions under control, never faze so easily.   
  
He throws the shovel on the unmarked grave and collapses to the ground. Burying his face in his hands, he loses himself in helpless sobs.   
  
A few minutes later, he finds himself barely dragging his feet back to Buffy's house, wiping his eyes with his sleeve one last time. He can't go in from the front door, can't bear looking at another potential for the moment. He walks around the house and pushes the kitchen door open, placing the shovel against the wall next to the door.   
  
His eyes lock with the brown ones that used to belong to him. "Xander" crouching next to the kitchen's broken table, tool box nearby, ready to fix the kitchen. Buffy's gaze shifts to the shovel resting next to the door; her gaze becomes sympathetic, returning to him.   
  
He swallows, focusing on the broken wooden leg in her hands. He hears Buffy's low chuckle and looks up at her. She tosses the piece of wood to the floor and smiles at him. "I don't see why we have to fix the table. It'll just be broken again tomorrow. Or a few minutes from now."  
  
He feels a smile touching his lips and shrugs. "Maybe. But finding it in one piece gives the place a touch of normalcy. Makes it feel like home."  
  
An uneasy smile covers her lips. "Home…"  
  
"These girls were taken away from their families, hunted down by an incorporeal evil, and each day one of them dies. The rest are waiting for their turn." He glances back at the shovel, his chest tightening. "If making the place feel a little like home, then I'd know I did something right."  
  
A moment of silence passes between them. "You care about them," Buffy says softly.   
  
He smoothes back the hair from his eyes, running his fingers down his long hair. "I do. They remind me of you. How you longed to be normal, be like every other teenage girl."  
  
She lowers her gaze down and says nothing. He stares at her for a moment, different emotions welling up in his chest. Sitting down next to her, he tries to find his voice, say what should be said. When he looks up, he finds her looking at him, understanding and sympathetic. "I'm sorry," he whispers, looking away. "I was being an ass earlier. It's just too much pressure…"  
  
Her hand clasps his. "It's not your pressure. It's mine."   
  
He shakes his head. "It shouldn't be, you know. It's too much."  
  
"I know."  
  
He returns his gaze to her, bites his lips at the sad understanding in her eyes. She knows it far too well, much better than he'll ever know. "I'm sorry you have to deal with this every day." He folds his arms around himself, hating how pathetic and exposed he must be appearing, never the one to talk about his feelings. "I can't imagine… the guilt and pain. It's too much for me. I've been taking you for granted, Buffy. You're still my hero, you always are."   
  
A faint smile dances on her lips. "I'm sorry, too. Where would I live without Xander keeping my house together?"  
  
He tries to smile back, but he feels like all the energy is drained out of him. He holds her hand instead, compares the fairness and delicacy with the contrasting tan and bulk. His thumb runs a couple of circles on her dry palm, her big hand feeling so weak in his. He closes his small hand on hers, holding it firmly, squeezing it with a force, feeling her bones cracking. He hears a hiss of pain, looks up at her, no sign of it on her face. She looks back expressionless, letting him do whatever he pleases.   
  
He loosens his grip and stares down at his old hand, like a big air balloon, puffed up but light and weak. Buffy's hand, though, is like iron, so powerful, despite its size, gripping him and pulling him in, the kind of power that makes a hero. A power that's never meant to be his.   
  
He closes his eyes and lets go of her hand, feeling the corners of his lips lifting up. He opens his eyes and looks at the broken leg of the table. His smile grows bigger. "You have no idea what to do here, do you?"  
  
Buffy attempts a weak pout. "Yes, I do. It's all easy according to carpentry-pro-framer.com." She reaches for Dawn's laptop behind the broken table and shows him the website.   
  
He releases a heavy sigh. "We really need to switch back."  
  
"Hey, I'm doing the best I can," she says defensively, lowering the laptop.   
  
"Listen, why don't we just tell Willow? She can find a way to switch us back." As a matter of fact, why did they wait this long to tell Willow? Did they insanely believe they can find a way to fix the situation by themselves? He vaguely remembers Buffy's headshake when he suggested telling the others. "Like you said, she has to use the power she has regardless of the consequences."   
  
Buffy grins. "You've been listening to my speeches."  
  
He shrugs. "Yeah, well, I had no choice. You get really scary."  
  
She pouts again, and he laughs, pushing her gently. "I told you, never pout when you have my face. It just looks ridiculous."  
  
She laughs a little. "Willow isn't back yet."  
  
"In the meantime, I'll teach you how to fix the table."  
  
She blows out her cheeks in playful irritation. "Can't you do it real quick? I'll guard the door."  
  
"Hey, you need to learn how in case the next body is mine."  
  
Her expression freezes, the smile vanishing gradually. "Don't you even joke about that."  
  
He's already lost his smile. "That wasn't a joke."  
  
A thick silence overpowers them, except for the faint complaints drifting from the living room. They stare at each other intensely, each one watching the traces of fear on their own faces.   
  
  
  
  


~*~*~*~

 


	4. Chapter 4

  
  


 

  
****

Made by [](https://moscow-watcher.livejournal.com/profile)[ **moscow_watcher**](https://moscow-watcher.livejournal.com/)

****  
  
  
  
  


 

** Put Yourself in My Shoes **

  
  
  
  
  


 

_Part Four_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
They told Willow.   
  
She feels a great sense of relief that someone she trusts finally knows. Here’s hope The First won’t have a clue. They’re being extra careful, discussing the switch without using their words.   
  
_How did it happen?_ Willow asks telepathically from her place on the bed and clutches the old sunflowers blanket in her hands. The blanket takes her back to LA when her father bought it for her. Seems ages ago. Those days when her family was present and alive and vampires were merely goth stories she never bothered to read.   
  
Willow glances between the tall figure that imprisoned the real Slayer and the girl who is actually Xander, her mind clearly trying to adjust to the change.   
  
_We don’t know,_  Xander answers Willow’s previous question. He’s using his body to keep the bedroom’s door shut. She finds herself lost in memory lane again. The countless movie nights the three of them had in this room. Simpler times that will never return.   
  
She looks right into Willow’s skeptical frown.  _It doesn’t matter right now. We need you to find a way to fix it, but not here. Others will be suspicious. Could you research this at the library on campus?_  
  
Willow nods.  _Can do. When did it happen?_  
  
_Does it matter?_  She knows what answering this question will lead to and she really doesn’t want to go there. She’s been there more often than she liked.   
  
_Every information is crucial,_  Willow insists, directing her gaze to Xander, hoping he’ll give her the answer. He doesn’t, too busy playing with an old college notebook from when she moved back home to nurse her sick mother. He shuffles the pages with his thumb and seems to enjoy the way the bulk of the paper tickles his skin, a distraction from engaging in a serious conversation.   
  
_Last night,_  she eventually answers, knowing that Willow won’t let it go. Not to mention that Willow is right. Every information matters.   
  
She watches the way the curiosity in Willow’s eyes frosts and slowly melts into hurt and disappointment. There she goes again, hiding something else from her friends, showing day after day her inability to let someone in. Her pain, her problem, she wants to solve it herself. It isn’t about trust. She really hopes Willow doesn’t think of it that way.   
  
But the apparent hurt on her friend’s face crashes that hope to tiny pieces.  _Why didn’t you tell me?_  
  
She’s too tired to delve into this. She just wants Willow to help. She wants them all to help, no questions asked, to explanations required.   
  
_Because we feared the First will find out._  Xander finally steps into the plate, expression kind and gentle.  _The less in the know the better._    
  
Willow seems to take what Xander said with a grain of salt, but evidently realizes that there’s no time to point fingers. Things should get back to order or they’re all doomed. Willow stands up with a sigh.  _I’ll sneak out some of the books Giles brought with him from the council. Don’t you wanna tell Giles?_  
  
She shakes her head.  _Hopefully we won’t need to._  She places a hand on her longtime best friend’s shoulder and squeezes hard.  _I’m counting on you, Will._  
  
Willow flashes her trademark supportive gal smile.  _I won’t let you down. Once I find the answer in those books of course._  
  
  
  


 

~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
  
  
He watches Buffy helping Willow sneak out the books through the backdoor while he stands like a useless vase. Emotions completely worn out, he can’t bring himself to help. Alice’s face haunts him everywhere he goes, every face he sees, there she is, begging him not to order her out into a fight she’s not ready for.   
  
With heavy steps, he moves to the living room where Giles attempts to teach the fresh new arrivals a thing or two about vampires. The gasps of awe at every creature Giles mentions that Buffy had killed is another brick on the heavy load weighing on his heart.   
  
There were so many deaths over the years, but Buffy never let it daunt her. She still carried on, still saved the day. Yet he…  
  
Can’t even bring himself to help with ‘sneaking books out’ duty.   
  
The history lesson is being held on the floor seeing as the living room table is broken. Giles brings his sensei game on, surrounded by a fortress of large books and curious wide eyes of teenage girls. Loud whispers burst at Giles’ latest artwork, which are getting increasingly more graphically gore-y.   
  
It was a historically inaccurate depiction of Buffy after she was killed by the Master. Giles was not there, but  _he_  was, and he can describe that horrible scene exactly to those girls, frame by frame. It was after all his worst nightmare coming to life.   
  
Dawn skips down the stairs, letting out a snort when Giles begins to make a fuss over a potential who dares to sit on one of the books. “Have you seen Xander?” she asks him.   
  
Yes, standing right here, his mind responds. “Not after I went out to bury Alice,” he says softly.   
  
Dawn brushes his arm in sympathy. “One death doesn’t tip the scale.”  
  
“No death would have been better.”  
  
“Buffy, you shouldn’t blame yourself…”  
  
“Save the pep talk, Dawn,” he cuts her off. Her comfort speech last night in the kitchen was fine when everyone in the house was alive, but now that he’s responsible for someone’s death, it just feels hollow. He doesn’t deserve to be comforted.   
  
The backdoor shuts in the kitchen with a loud thud, just as the front door clicks open revealing a grim-faced Anya. As Buffy passes the foyer on her way out from the kitchen, she and Anya stop short when they see each other. A glint of disdain flashes in Anya’s eyes, and her lips press in a rigid line.   
  
“Hey,” Buffy says awkwardly.   
  
Anya doesn’t say a word, just dashes into the kitchen on an angry stride.   
  
What the hell?  
  
He marches towards Buffy, grabs her by the arm and leads her to the closet under the stairway. “What did you do to make her angry at  _me_?” he hisses into her ear, feeling the venom in his voice.   
  
Buffy grins sheepishly. “You noticed that?”  
  
“What happened last night?”  
  
There’s a pause. Right now, she’s doing a very good impression of his infamous blinking. “I broke your car.”  
  
“What?!”  
  
“It was an accident and you almost got me fired, so we’re even!”  
  
“Almost. Not fired. Nowhere near fired. But you  _wrecked_  my car. There’s a lack of ‘almost’ in that sentence.” Why do his friends keep ruining his Xand-mobile? Willow last year on her vengeful quest to kill the nerds. And now Buffy with her lack of driving skills. “What did you do then?”  
  
This pause runs a bit longer than the one before. “I left it there,” she says with a tiny squeak.   
  
His mouth drops along with his heart. “Please tell me you filed a police report.”  
  
“Was I supposed to?”  
  
“Oh my God!” Hands flailing in the air, he rushes to the nearest telephone, ignoring Buffy’s half-assed apology, “Sorry. I never had a car.”  
  
On his rush to the living room, Giles blocks his way. “Good, Buffy. May I have a word?”  
  
“Not now, Giles. I’ve got a situation.” He tries to slip around Giles, but the man blocks his way again.   
  
“This is urgent.”  
  
He rubs on his forehead with a groan. “Fine. What is it?”  
  
“I’ve been thinking about your decision to remove Spike’s chip.”  
  
“What about it?” He crosses his arms and waits patiently for Giles to get to the point. His poor, poor car left in the street unattended. What if it’s blocking the road? The police will be furious.   
  
Giles is looking intensely at him. He should probably pay more attention.   
  
“… still think it was irresponsible. You have got plenty of innocent lives here, and having a, eh, a ticking bomb roaming about waiting to explode is not very wise.”  
  
“I understand, but it’s not Spike’s fault. He was being controlled by the First.”  
  
“Yes, the trigger theory you came up with, I feel…”  
  
“Xander,” he quickly corrects. When Giles stares at him, he explains, “Xander came up with it. Which I realize as I’m saying it that it’s not important. Sorry. Go on.” His cheeks flush. He just hates it when people forget that he has brains sometimes.   
  
Giles appears a bit dumbfounded for a second before he clears his throat. “Ah, yes. It is quite dangerous leaving a loose cannon…”  
  
“Okay, Giles, I get it. The overuse of metaphors is starting to grate. You think Spike is still dangerous.”   
  
“Don’t you?” Giles asks. “I know he’s got his soul, Buffy, but he can still get triggered. A lot of lives are at stake, Dawn may as well be his next victim. Have you thought of that?”  
  
He hasn’t. The verdict on Spike’s chip was Buffy’s choice. In fact, all decisions regarding Spike lately, he makes sure he has no say in them. Buffy knows Spike best, and he can’t decide anything without talking to her first. He learned that the hard way after Alice’s death.  
  
Fixing Giles with a definite stare, he makes a decision. “I’ll call the insurance company.”  
  
He walks past Giles to the living room, hearing his watcher friend’s flustered reply behind him, “What? What have they got to do with Spike’s chip?”   
  
  
  
  


 

~*~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
  
“That’s not half bad.”  
  
“You think?” She beams at Xander’s professional compliment. The kitchen table is now fixed, and she did it all by herself. “I think I’m ready to fix my own house now.”   
  
“Not really.” Xander rests a hand on the table. It wobbles.   
  
She whimpers and drops the hammer on the floor. “How do you do it?”  
  
He smiles, for a second, and then a serious frown clouds his face. “Buff, I was talking to Giles just now. It was about Spike.”  
  
Her chest constricts. “Yeah?”  
  
Brushing a few blonde locks back, he carries sounding anxious, “Look, he’s raising some pretty good points. Spike could be the First’s little puppet any minute soon and the house is full of people he could easily kill.”  
  
She doesn’t say a word to that. She’d heard this argument before from Giles, and the fact that Xander feels the same way put a strain on her spirits. She crouches on the floor to place the hammer inside the toolbox.   
  
“Maybe…” Xander’s unsure voice carries on, “maybe we should chain him? Or lock him in a cage, like we used to do with Oz, until we find a way to get rid of the trigger.”   
  
“Spike doesn’t need that. I can feel it.”  
  
He crouches down next to her and holds her gaze. “Buffy, I’m not… I just want everybody to be safe. I can’t bare losing someone else.”  
  
“And they will be.” She understands how the responsibility of people’s lives is weighing heavily on his shoulders. He’d never had to deal with that before, and this is the worst possible time for him to have a taste of what it’s like to be the Slayer. “Spike is stronger than you think. I have faith in him.”  
  
The green eyes look back at her, her own eyes. The intense emotions they reflect of fear and uncertainty makes her want to pull him into a tight hug and tell him that everything will be all right. But she doesn’t know that. She’s as scared as he is, but as a leader, she knows what emotions to show and what to hide. They are leading a group of young girls who have no fighting experience. It’s a daunting job, but it needs to be done, and she hopes Xander can hold himself together until Willow finds a cure.   
  
“You have faith in him,” Xander begins, “And I have faith in you.”  
  
The strength and trust in his tone almost get to her. She swallows a lump and gives him a smile. “Thank you. I’m glad to have someone on my side with whole Spike thing.”  
  
“Hey, I recently lived with the guy, remember? He did change, I’ll give you that.” He starts to help her clear the kitchen floor. “Besides, now I know what it’s like having your best friend trying to kill the person you love. I don’t want you to feel that way again.”  
  
The green eyes look deeply into her own. There’s something about his gaze she hasn’t seen before; pure understanding. They’ve been on the same ride, worn each other’s shoes way before the switch. She knows from this moment on that she will always trust Xander with her life.   
  
That’s when she hears it; Dawn’s scream.   
  
  
  


 

~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
  
Things are looking catastrophic in the basement. Dawn is flung to the other side of the room, Vi is clutching a visibly broken leg on the floor, and Kennedy is fighting a losing battle with a completely feral Spike.   
  
Giles was right.   
  
It’s happened again. Spike has gone on another killing spree.   
  
The watcher in question dashes in to stand next to them with a stake in his hand. “I was afraid the situation would turn out dire.”  
  
Buffy eyes the stake in alarm. “What are you going to do?”  
  
“What needs to be done.” Giles marches forwards, lifting up his stake.   
  
Buffy is about to follow him, when he holds up a hand to stop her.  _He’s_  the Slayer. It’s time to act like one.   
  
“Giles, stop.” He’s proud of the strong, unwavering command that came out of his mouth.   
  
The other man curses under his breath. “Buffy, this is not…”   
  
“I’ll deal with Spike,” he interrupts Giles’ irritated response with a firmer tone, snatches the stake in Giles’ hand and tosses it aside.   
  
He looks back at Buffy, who nods her support. She kneels to the floor to examine Vi’s leg just as Dawn limps her way back to where they’re all are.   
  
The other potentials start to gather behind Buffy and Dawn. Rona tisks and turns to face Molly. “Told you he’s dangerous.”   
  
Right then, a vicious Spike sends Kennedy flying away and crashing against the weapon chest.   
  
He doesn’t waste a second, rushing to take a firm grip on Spike’s shoulders and forcing him down. He pins him to the floor hard, amazed at how unthreatening a rattled Spike’s bucks feel.   
  
It’s all about power. As a Slayer, he’s ten times stronger than a vampire. The ball is in Spike’s court now.   
  
“Spike, you can do it,” he encourages, ignoring the twin snorts by Giles and Rona. “Snap out of it for me, will ya?”  
  
Spike snarls and bounds against him, but there’s no budging of the Xander.   
  
“C’mon, buddy, you’re not the First’s sleeper agent, are you? You’re stronger than it thinks.” He grunts when Spike knees him in the stomach and tightens his hold on him. “I believe in you, Spike. You know I do. Show them, Spike, show them I’m right about you.”   
  
He believes in Buffy, knows she’s right, but he needs Spike to show him. He needs Spike to rise to Buffy’s high expectations.   
  
He glances at Buffy and notes how calm she appears. She really trusts Spike.   
  
As Spike keeps fighting against him, the other potentials begin getting restless. “It’ll never gonna work,” Rona comments with a snide scoff.   
  
“This is ridiculous,” Giles scolds and takes a step forwards, but Buffy stops him with a firm grip on his wrist.   
  
“Buffy knows what she’s doing.”  
  
She sure does. He can see it in Spike’s face, where the sullen ridges melt away, leaving the angular lines of his smooth human features.   
  
Confused blue eyes gaze up at him, and bruised lips flutter open. “Buffy?”  
  
He smiles. “You snapped out of it, Spike.” A sense of relief washes over him. Buffy’s right. Spike was able to do it.   
  
“Actually, you held him down long enough until it wore off,” Giles remarks. “What if he gets triggered again when you’re at work?”   
  
“Yeah,” Rona exclaims her agreement. The other potentials seem to agree with Giles as well.   
  
“I did,” Spike’s mutter contradicts Giles’ claim. “I was in control. I pulled free…”   
  
“That’s preposterous,” Giles objects.   
  
Spike keeps talking as if he wasn’t interrupted. He looks up at him again and holds his hand. “Heard your voice. You believe in me.”  
  
He stares between Spike’s intense eyes and the hand holding his own. Things getting a little steamy for his liking, so he springs up to his feet. “Yeah, I did.” He gives a nervous chuckle, averting his gaze from the bemused grins.   
  
Giles isn’t looking amused. “Buffy, what just happened proves I was right. Spike needs…”   
  
“You know what, Giles, instead of complaining about it, how about you work your butt into finding a cure for Spike?” he snaps in frustration. “You do have a point. We need Spike to be completely free from the First’s control and that won’t happen unless we help him.”  
  
He spots Vi and Dawn. “We better take of the wounded.” He glances back at Kennedy. “Are you all right?”  
  
She nods, her lower lip cut and bloodied. “Nothing a Willow loving won’t fix.” She smiles behind them. “There she is.”   
  
Willow doesn’t seem to notice her girlfriend or the mess, her eyes on Buffy. “Xander, we need to talk.”   
  
  
  


 

~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
  
  
_I thought the First had something to do with this, but I was wrong,_  Willow says telepathically, looking very troubled.  _Buffy, the switch is a test set by the watchers’ council._    
  
“What?” Her gaze slips to Giles in the living room answering various questions about what’s expected from the Slayer. Another damn test! How many apocalypses must she stop to prove herself to those stuck-up dirtbags? The council, which has been blown up, and the only watcher left alive is…   
  
No. Her stomach locks up tight. This can’t be happening. Not again. 


End file.
